A Summer at Hogwarts
by Aenigma
Summary: Why is Hogwarts having summer school? More importantly, is there something between Harry and Cho? Does Hermione care if there is? Does Ron? And what's this about a summer curse? A long, twisting tale about the ties that bind. Please R/R!
1. Summer School's In

Disclaimer: I own Colonel Quoniam Quinn, and Colonel Quoniam Quinn alone.  All other characters, settings, etc. are the sole property of J.K. Rowling.

This story takes place almost immediately after the events in _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.  It's meant as, more than anything else, a morsel to tide us over until __Order of the Phoenix and a repository for my own hopes as to where the story will go.  Because of the highly speculative (and hopeful) nature of this story, chances are everything in it will be made obsolete—nay, laughable—by events in Harry Potter canon.  Nevertheless, I hope this will prove as enjoyable to read as it was to pull out of the depths of my twisted mind.  PLEASE read and review; this ambitious project is my second fanfic ever, and so any help (including out-and-out flames) anyone can give would be __most appreciated.  To reiterate: HELP ME, PLEASE!_

Ahem.  Without further ado…

Chapter One: (Summer) School's In

            Harry Potter awoke one bright summer morning to the most curious sensation of his pet owl Hedwig jumping excitedly up and down on his chest.  Hedwig was usually a fairly reserved bird (except for those occasions when Harry failed to adequately compensate her for sending letters), so this behavior immediately struck Harry as very odd indeed.  He stumbled around a bit, looking for his glasses—Hedwig's vigorous activity must have knocked them off of their usual resting spot on the counter—and attempted to see what the fuss was about.

            "OUCH!  Watch it, Hedwig!  What's the matter with you?"  Just then he noticed that Hedwig had an envelope in her beak.  "Oh…a letter.  But I get letters all the time.  Is this one urgent?"

            Hedwig shook her head, but nevertheless forcefully placed the letter in Harry's lap.  Still quite puzzled, Harry carefully opened the envelope and read its contents:

            _Dear Mr. Potter,_

_            As you have no doubt realized, there is now more danger facing the students of __Hogwarts__School__ of Witchcraft and Wizardry than there has ever been since the fall of the Dark Lord Voldemort.  Students enrolled at Hogwarts are required to enroll in seven years of Defense Against the Dark Arts; however, in this very precarious time, the Heads of Staff have all agreed that these introductory courses do not adequately serve the increased security needs of students._

_To solve this problem an emergency six-week summer session, exclusively focused on Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts, has been called for all students at or above fourth year.  There are no books or materials to purchase, as the new teacher (Colonel Quoniam Quinn) is providing students with all they will need for the course.  The date of arrival is July 1, and the date of departure is August 12._

_Please note that the regular school session begins as usual on September 1.  A separate letter will be sent after the summer session with a list of books for the new year._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Professor M. McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

            Most students would be extremely annoyed, to say the least, that they were being forced to go to school over the summer.  Harry Potter, however, was overjoyed—and Hedwig, he decided, was all too right about being very excited.  Harry would take the joys of studying magic in the twisting corridors of Hogwarts over the utter tedium of life with the Dursleys in Number Four, Privet Drive any day.  Besides, this gave him a chance to see his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, for most of the summer.

            And maybe…just maybe…he'd see the Ravenclaw Seeker, Cho Chang.  Harry sighed deeply.  He wasn't really sure what to do or think about her.  He'd had a crush on her for almost two years now, and had asked her to the Yule Ball when the Triwizard Tournament was in high swing.  Unfortunately for him, she had already been asked to the dance by Cedric Diggory—the other, exceptionally handsome, Hogwarts champion—who over the course of the rest of the year became her steady boyfriend.  All the way until…until…

            Harry's stomach lurched.  Cedric…he had died senselessly, without any chance of survival, hit by the _Avada__ Kedavra curse.  And all because—Harry felt the sting of tears forming in the corners of his eyes—all because of his decision to share the Triwizard Cup with Cedric.  If he'd just fulfilled Cedric's request to take the Cup, he would have escaped Voldemort regardless, and Cedric would have stayed alive.  Harry mused bitterly that Voldemort didn't make being noble easy.  Neither did he make being fourteen, almost fifteen, easy.  How would Cho react to Harry, now that Cedric was dead?  Had she known about his feelings for her?  Another sigh escaped him, but he decided not to worry about Cho until he was forced to—until the start of the summer session._

            Flopping down on his bed, Harry eyed the small calendar in the corner of his room; the date was June 24th.  That made exactly one week before he had to be at King's Cross station; Harry couldn't decide whether to be looking forward to leaving the Dursleys or dreading the prospect of explaining to them that he had to be transported to London not once but twice this year.  He soon made up his mind, though, that whatever unpleasantness he might have to deal with, an extra six weeks of Hogwarts would make up for it in spades.

Harry got up, stretching and yawning, and began his descent to the Dursleys' living room.  Hedwig looked at him inquisitively, and Harry spoke.

"Time to break the bad news."

And he laughed, his smile growing wider with each passing step.

*          *          *

"You WHAT?"  Uncle Vernon roared at a flinching Harry Potter.

"I have to go to Hogwarts for an emergency summer session."

"And I suppose you want ME to drive you all the way to ruddy LONDON, don't you?  I'm sure you're only being summoned back to that FREAKY school of yours because you've been CUTTING UP!"  Harry began explaining the purpose of the return to Hogwarts, but Vernon cut him off.  "DON'T interrupt me!  If you weren't such a worthless GIT, I'm sure this wouldn't be necessary.  I have half a mind to make you hitch your own way to King's Cross station…but…" Uncle Vernon's voice faltered, and he seemed visibly shaken. "Poor Petunia was so shaken last time you left.  I'd rather take you myself than have to deal with your freaky friends barging in here through the chimney like some insane family of Saint Nicks.  Now GET OUT OF MY SIGHT before I change my mind!"

Harry didn't say a word; he just turned and went right back the way he came, feeling Dudley's hateful stare pierce the back of his head.  Try as he might to seem nonchalant about the matter, he could barely contain his excitement, and started bounding up the stairs, another grin forming on his lips.  Once back in his room, he hastily began writing letters to Ron and Hermione expressing his immense joy at being able to spend the summer at Hogwarts.

*          *          *

Time, it has been noted, has the most annoying tendency to speed up as an unpleasant event approaches.  Perhaps even more annoying, however, is its tendency to slow down as something pleasant comes.  The hours stretched on for days at a time as July the first crept all too slowly towards the Dursley residence.  Dudley made sure to make Harry's life as miserable as possible, but Harry absolutely refused to be brought down into feeling bad.  Unfortunately for Harry, this made Dudley's attacks ever more brutal, and though he said nothing, Harry could not help but wait in silent expectation for the start of July.

Finally, the long-awaited day came.  On the morning of July 1, Harry leapt out of bed, threw on a pair of clothes (making sure to pack his wizard robes to change into once he had gotten on the Hogwarts Express), and greeted Uncle Vernon at breakfast.  Uncle Vernon, as well as Aunt Petunia and Dudley, was entirely silent through breakfast.  When the time came to leave for King's Cross Station, he simply pointed to the car and gruffly told Harry "Get in."

If the weeklong wait to go to London was bad, the drive itself was absolutely unbearable.  Harry was certain that some Dark Wizards had conspired to make the trip last longer than a week; but, once it was finally over, Harry got out of the car with his trunk ("Get out," Uncle Vernon had barked at him), and started to make his way to Platform 9 and ¾.  He felt relief pour down on him like a storming flood after a long, hard drought, and boarded the Hogwarts Express with nearly half an hour to spare.

As Harry went to the car traditionally inhabited by Gryffindors of his year, he overheard a snippet of conversation between Draco Malfoy and some second party he could not identify:

"Honestly, what's the point of this?  If they'd just teach us how to use some ruddy curses, we could just destroy anyone who came after us…Not that anyone'd come after _me.  Hah!  I have my priorities straight.  What's so wrong with getting rid of the Muggles and the Mudbloods, anyway?  It's just like my dad says…"  Harry felt he might be sick if he overheard any more, and so made a point of speeding to his car.  He was so upset, though, that he wasn't looking carefully, and plowed right into Ron Weasley—who let out a string of words that would no doubt have made his mother quite upset, had she heard him._

"Hey, watch it!  Where the hell are you going in such a—Harry?  What's got you in such a rush?"

"So sorry, Ron.  I just overheard Draco whining to some slimy Slytherin git about how much he hates Muggles and the like, and had to get out of there as quickly as possible—for my stomach's well-being."

Ron smiled, and clapped Harry on the back.  "Right."

"I'm surprised to see you here this early, Ron.  This is more the kind of extra time that Hermione leaves for herself."

Ron's ears went slightly pink.  "Yes, well, mom wanted to avoid the kind of fuss and muss that always happens when we leave for Hogwarts.  Of course, she says that _every time, but for some odd reason, today it worked."_

Harry was visibly impressed.  He found his place and sat down next to Ron.  "Speaking of Hermione, is she here yet?"

            "Ah—no," Ron said, his face now flushing more than before, "She's not here yet."  Harry noticed Ron's peculiar reaction to Hermione's name, but didn't know what to make of it.

            "Oh well.  Say, do you know anything about this teacher of Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts?  I mean, is he good, this Lieutenant… err… Calligula… Quorum…—"

            "_Colonel Quoniam Quinn, if you'd bother to read __The Rise and Fall of the Dark Lord Voldemort, is the head of the Magical Department of Defense's Auror Training Program," called out the distinct voice of Hermione Granger._

            "Hermione!" exclaimed Harry, and he jumped out of his seat to embrace his friend.  Hermione's eyes sparkled, and she spoke again.

            "Good to see you, Harry!  Aren't you looking forward to this summer term?  I can't wait!  We're so lucky to have the chance to study under Colonel Quinn; he's one of the best, and sure to teach us _everything we need to know to keep ourselves alive should anything… unfortunate… happen."  She then furrowed her eyebrows and asked, "Say, where's Ron?"_

            Ron, who had made himself scarce by getting behind Harry at Hermione's entrance, stuttered out a greeting: "He-hello, Herm-hermione."  The color of his face approached the fiery hue of his hair.  Hermione reached out to hug Ron, but he backed out, shaking her hand instead; both Harry and Hermione were more than slightly nonplussed by his response, and both shrugged their shoulders.

            Ron soon calmed down and didn't let whatever it was that was bugging him affect him from there on in.  For the next half hour the three friends relived the events of the previous year at Hogwarts: the announcement of the Triwizard Tournament, the mystery of Harry's entrance into the competition, Ron and Hermione's aiding Harry to prepare for his challenges, the Yule Ball—Ron's ears went pink again at the mention of the ball—and the horrific death of Cedric Diggory.  All three of them became visibly distressed as they recalled how they witnessed his death; Harry remembered being tied up and powerless to do anything but watch as the evil green light robbed young Cedric of his life, while Ron and Hermione remembered being totally shocked when, out of nowhere, the lifeless body of Cedric materialized.  It was obvious that Hermione was only just managing to hold back tears.

            Half an hour soon elapsed in this manner, and a shrill whistle announced the departure of the Hogwarts Express.  As the scarlet train pulled out of King's Cross station, Harry's thoughts wandered—from his two best friends, to his new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher (who, Hermione was quick to inform him, had a reputation for being tough as nails), and then to the matter of how exactly he would deal with Cho Chang this summer.  Unable to come to a satisfactory resolution about the matter, Harry closed his eyes and lost himself in sleep as the English countryside whizzed by his head.

~End Chapter One

So…what do you think?  This is obviously only an introduction; if it seemed hasty to you, that's because it was designed that way (I want to butcher canon as little as possible, and adding in a traditional pre-Hogwarts Express arc would be a really effective way of destroying all that makes this series great).  There's more interesting stuff coming soon, I promise—this story's just getting underway!  Any questions, comments, or suggestions, please drop a line either by making a review or sending me an email at Rask0lnik@aol.com.  Thanks for reading!


	2. Enter the Colonel

Chapter Two: Enter the Colonel

After a nice, long nap, Harry awoke just as the Hogwarts Express was pulling into Hogwarts Station.  Harry was a bit disquieted by the arrival; it was odd not to hear the nervous chatter of first-year students or Hagrid's booming voice leading them to their destination.  The passengers—all fourth- through seventh-year students—stepped off the scarlet train, and began making their way to the castle proper.  The anxiety in the air was palpable; the students didn't know whether to be excited at the prospect of working with the man who trained the Aurors to fight, or fearful of the circumstances that made his presence necessary.

*          *          *

By the time all the students had assembled in the Great Hall, the enchanted ceiling was colored a magnificent shade of twilight rose, and everyone was beginning to feel a little restless.  Ginny Weasley found her brother's table (naturally, he was seated with Harry) and kept an eye on Harry from a moderate distance, being careful to duck out of view if he ever looked her way.  Just when it seemed that things would never get a move on, Albus Dumbledore walked up to the large podium and began speaking.

"Welcome to the first-ever Hogwarts summer school sessions!" he said with a warm smile.  "The staff and I have long considered having one, but until now there have always been more… pressing concerns.  It is unfortunate that the impetus for this session's creation had to be the revival of Lord Voldemort,"—there was an audible disturbance as the student body shifted nervously at Dumbledore's mention of the name; however, he continued without stopping—"but that is the way these things go.  I am most anxious to hand this podium to our special guest and teacher, Colonel Quoniam Quinn, but I have a few things to say before I do.

"First, I shall explain the daily schedule.  As the purpose of this session is to arm you with the knowledge and skills you will need to successfully survive if attacked, there will be no classes unrelated to this matter.  All students will receive individual instruction from Colonel Quinn once a week—first years on Monday, second years on Tuesday, and so on.  The time not spent with Colonel Quinn will be divided between honing the skills you learn from him with the regular staff, and learning complementary defense skills not normally covered in your regular classes.  Fridays are Tournament days, where you will have a chance to put what you have learned to practical use.  Finally, due to the unqualified success of the Yule Ball last year, there will be a Summer Ball on the night of Saturday, July 27th.  So mark your calendars!" Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye.  "And now, without further ado, I am most pleased to introduce your special summer-session Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Colonel Quoniam Quinn!"

Dumbledore began clapping, and the entire assembly joined in as a middle-aged man with cropped hair, a fair amount of chin stubble, and bulging muscles took the podium.  He was dressed exactly as Harry would have imagined a wizard soldier would dress; he was wearing forest-green robes, cut very short and close to his body.  There was a slightly manic glint in his eyes as he began walking from the teachers' table to the podium.

"His rank of Colonel is honorary," Hermione whispered to Harry, "as there is no wizard military.  But if there ever is, you can be sure he'll be the first signed up."

"What's that?" asked Ron, who hadn't quite heard what Hermione had said; but, before she could reply, a roaring voice erupted from the front of the Great Hall.

"Well, well, well!  I can honestly say that I have _NEVER seen a sorrier bunch of weak, slimy little wannabes!  Alastor was right, you are all in __VERY sorry shape.  I'll tell you right now: if the weakest, most broken-down wretch of a pitiful excuse for a Dark wizard were taken straight here from Azkaban without a chance to rest at all, and I left you maggots on your own to stop him, he'd kill half of you before you so much as stunned him."_

Harry knew this to be false, remembering his victory over the severely weakened Voldemort in his first year, but decided not to say anything.  Quinn, meanwhile, paused to sneer at the student assembly before continuing.

"That can change, though, and for your sake it damn well better.  I can teach you everything you need to know about fighting Dark wizards.  Six weeks with one day a week of personal instruction may not seem like much, but that's actually the standard length of the beginning-level Auror training program.  In other words, ladies and gentlemen, this is the Real Deal.  Don't make the mistake of thinking it will be easy.  I had one kid who thought he knew it all, before I put him through the ropes.  Bright kid—powerful wizard, real lady-killer—but he bit it one week after I was done with him.  He didn't pay attention when I was discussing the finer points of Multiple Curse-Target Tracking, and then he got ambushed by a group of Death Eaters."  Quinn spoke slightly more softly now, and muttered something under his breath that sounded like "Poor kid," before hardening his face and moving on.

"_DON'T  be that kid!  Do what Papa Quinn tells you to, and you'll be just fine.  But, let me stop a moment to make one thing absolutely clear."  The slightly manic glint in his eye now turned totally insane.  "I will __DESTROY  you.  I will break you in places you didn't know could move.  I will make you hurt worse than a Crucio curse, and then I will force even more pain on you.  I will make you ache so badly that when you get out of bed that you won't think you can move at all—and when you do, I'll send you back to that same bed aching even worse._

"You will bleed.  You will rip, and you will tear.  You will hate me, you will hate the stinking Hell-slime from which I was spawned, and you will make these opinions known to your fellow students at every available opportunity.  But I won't give a rat's ass about your namby-pamby feelings, and neither will you—because at the end of these six weeks, once I've taken you to hell and back, you will be a lean, mean, Dark-fighting machine.  You will be able to hold your own in a fight for your life against the meanest sunzabitches Voldemort can throw your way.  And—" Quinn showed a hint of a wink in his eyes as he continued, "despite how you feel when you're in the thick of things, you will love me for it once you're done.  That is all."

Quinn's features slackened somewhat, and he left the podium.  The students were too stunned to           react, not knowing what to make of their new teacher; judging from the wry smile Harry saw on Quinn, that was exactly the intent of the speech.  Harry noticed that Snape, back at the teachers' table, looked extremely pleased with the audience's reaction.  Dumbledore retook the podium, and said a few nonsense words; immediately, a sumptuous feast materialized. Dumbledore smiled and said, "Dig in."

*          *          *

"Right scary git," said a visibly shaken Ron as the three of them ate.

"What?  Scary?  Get off it, Ron!  I'm sure it's all just an act.  Quite convincing, though.  He's just saying that to get you motivated—and scared silly.  Judging by the look of you, he's succeeded nicely.  What a wonderful teacher," replied Hermione, positively beaming.

"Yeah, 'great teacher,' right.  The only reason you're not afraid of him is his figure."

"What?" asked Hermione, innocently.

"Like I didn't see the way you looked at his rippling muscles.  Ugh, how gross."

"Just what exactly are you implying?" Hermione seemed very flustered.

"Oh, get off it yourself!  Harry, isn't it obvious Hermione over here fancies our new teacher?"  Before Harry could have responded one way or the other—though he did notice Hermione's vacant stare during Quinn's speech—Hermione exploded, responding:

"FA-…._FANCY  him!  How utterly…utterly….__DISGUSTING!"_

"Whatever, Hermione.  I thought it was bad when we had Mr. Lockhart, but it looks like now I might have to call Wizard Child Services or something."  Ron and Harry both had a good laugh, and Hermione was quite upset.

"Honestly, Ron, I had hoped that maybe you had matured since last year.  I wonder what gave me the idea that you would ever grow up…"

"Mature?  I'm mature!  Just not middle-aged, haha!"  cracked Ron; Hermione rolled her eyes and stood up.

"I'm done.  See you in the Common Room, if you can act your age."

*          *          *

Ron started feverishly apologizing, and followed the seemingly deaf Hermione all the way back to the Gryffindor Common Room; Harry knew better than to interfere.  He figured any intervention on his part would just make things worse, and besides, this would be the perfect opportunity to talk to Cho.  He looked around the Great Hall for her, and spotted her sitting quietly at an excited table of sixth-year Ravenclaws.

For fifteen minutes, Harry tried (and failed) to screw up enough courage to go and talk to her.  He did, however, come to the realization that the difficulty wasn't really about liking her or not liking her; he was having trouble because he didn't know what to talk about.  If he did like her, how could either of them feel anything other than guilt about a potential relationship, after the death of Cedric?  If he didn't like her, and so had nothing to confess to her, what could he say as an introduction that wouldn't make him look like a blubbering idiot?

It seemed an unsolvable dilemma to Harry, who seriously began considering just heading up to Gryffindor Tower and getting some extra sleep before what was sure to be a long, hard day tomorrow—but he didn't.  Finally acquiring the needed resolve, he bit his lip and (making a mental note not to bring up Diggory) went over to her table.  Standing beside her, he began talking hurriedly.

"Hichoiwasjustwonderinghowyouweredoingyouknowaftervoldemortkilled—" and Harry stopped, mortified, as he had almost mentioned Cedric Diggory after less than five seconds of talking.  Cho either didn't notice or didn't care, and smiled weakly.

"Hello, Harry."  For some reason, Cho's simple greeting hit him like a glass of wine, and all the tension present mere moments before simply evaporated.

"Hi, Cho.  You know, I—"

"Oh, sorry, Harry, please sit down."  Cho placed her hand on the empty seat next to her; Harry, who was still standing, blushed furiously as he took the seat.  "Now then, what were you saying?"

"No-… nothing… Just, I've been meaning to talk to you, about…some things…"  Cho laughed, but there seemed to be very little happiness in it.

"Well, go ahead!  We have all the time in the world—nothing to do tonight but talk."

"...Right.  Um.  See, the thing is, I don't want to—I don't know—freak you out, or anything… But I kind of need to get off my chest that, well, for the past year and a half I've had this gigantic crush on you."  Harry's voice began quavering slightly, and his eyes were pointed directly at a spot on the floor two inches in diameter.  Cho just sat there, motionless, as if she had not heard a thing.

"I don't even know if I still like you.  I mean, who can tell, after something like…like…like Cedric's…" Harry trailed off, his voice now shaking; Cho stood just as stoically as before, but Harry noticed wet spots at the corners of her eyes.

"A-anyway.  I just wanted to get it out in the open, is all.  I'd never think of… of even thinking about trying to start something with you—that's not why I started this conversation.  As bad as I feel about Cedric, I know you have to feel a hundred times worse.  And, while I'm at it, please let me apologize—I don't know if you've heard this, but Cedric would be alive right now if I had just taken his offer of the Triwizard Cup—I'm so sorry, Cho.  I am, and I just have all these feelings bottled up, and—"  Cho broke down crying, and Harry stopped talking.  He figured he'd done it, now; he had upset her to the point of tears, and she'd never want to talk to him ever again.  Why had he ever even tried to do something so ruddy stupid?  Cho collected herself and spoke.

"Harry… I… thank you, for your honesty, and your…your apology… but, you know, it's really all unnecessary.  Of course I knew how you felt, and it was always sort of a… a little nagging something, that made me feel bad—the knowledge that I was breaking your heart.  I used to think, how different things might have been, if you had asked me to that ball before Cedric….oh, but that's all rubbish, just useless speculation."  Harry nodded in agreement.

"And as for your apology," Cho went on, "oh, Harry, please don't feel sorry.  It's a testament to your strength of character that you offered to share the Cup with Cedric, and just unlucky circumstance that he…he died… because of it."  Harry felt better, if not quite fully absolved.  "You know, I think you're very brave, to come over here and tell me all these things.  Makes me wish things could be different—you're going to make a very special girl feel very happy one day, Harry.  Hmm…maybe that girl you're always hanging with—Hermione, isn't it?  Yes, Hermione." Cho laughed lightly, this time with genuine humor.  "That is, if your red-haired friend doesn't get to her first—a distinct possibility, I think, judging from the way they're always at each other's throats."  Harry's face lit up in surprise.

"Me?  With _Hermione?  What, are you __kidding?  And __Ron liking her?  You sure you don't need to see Madam Pomfrey?"  Harry laughed, and Cho replied with a smile._

"I'm dead serious, Harry.  I may be only one year ahead of you in school, but I'm two years older than you, and I know some things about boys and girls."

"Whatever you say…"

*          *          *

Harry and Cho continued talking, still seated at the Ravenclaw table in the Great Hall, until late into the night.  They talked about their families (Cho's father was apparently the brother of the unfortunate headstrong wizard Colonel Quinn had told them about in his introductory speech) and their backgrounds, their hopes and dreams, and their thoughts on life in general.

The end result of all this was that a new bond of friendship had been formed between the two.  Both knew that there was never to be anything romantic about it—at least not until far into the future, when they had had time to adequately deal with their feelings about the death of Cedric—but both were glad that this was the case because both weren't really sure they liked the other in a romantic way.

After several hours had passed with Harry and Cho talking, Snape came by and shooed them off to bed.  Harry hugged her goodbye, and Cho made him promise to hang out with her more often from now on.  Exhausted but triumphant, Harry made his way to Gryffindor Tower, gave the Fat Lady the new password—"Fiddlesticks"—and collapsed into his bed, feeling the best he had in a long while.


	3. Red Haired Friend

Up until now, I've used the same involved third-person point of view (from Harry's perspective) as J.K. Rowling.  Starting in this chapter, due to the nature of the story and the need to explore the characters' emotions in-depth, the point of view will begin shifting around a (little) bit.

One more note: who ends up with whom in the end is as up for grabs as it would be in real life, though I _will say that the overall arc of the love story has been plotted since before I uploaded the first chapter, and that I honestly think I go where Rowling will take it (if not in book five, then over the course of the whole series).  Also, Harry is __not going to fall for a new, original character—both because J.K. Rowling would never do that, and because I don't think I'm a good enough writer to make it seem believable.  So, onward and upward!_

CHAPTER THREE: RED HAIRED FRIEND

            Judging from the way Ron and Hermione were chatting amicably with each other at breakfast the next morning, Harry figured they had managed to make up after their half-fight the night before.  He ate his breakfast in silence; he was still tired from his late-night conversation with Cho, and didn't much feel like talking.  Both of his friends made several stabs at conversation with him, but utterly failed to elicit much more than a grunt in response.  

            "What, bee in your bonnet, Harry?" piped Ron.

            "Oh, leave him alone, Ron.  He's just tired."

            "From what?"

            Harry opened his mouth to explain, and then (for some reason he wasn't quite sure of) after a moment of thought decided against it, closing his mouth and returning to his food.  Ron and Hermione looked puzzled.

            "Uh…right…" said Ron uncertainly.

            Just then, a sneering Draco Malfoy strutted over to where the three friends were seated, his usual entourage of Crabbe and Goyle in close step.

            "Well, well, well, Potter!  Decided to return to your friends, instead of spending the morning with your new lover, eh?"  Ron and Hermione were very confused; Harry turned a bright shade of pink.

            "What on _earth are you talking about, Malfoy?" inquired Hermione._

            "Ha!  I didn't figure you'd be one to get upset about it, Mudblood—weren't you all about that Bulgarian guy just a few weeks ago?"

            "Viktor was just a friend," replied Hermione defensively, "despite whatever that awful woman might have written about us.  But that has nothing to do with Harry.  What's this business about a…lover?"

            Draco eyed her for a moment. His lips twisting into a sneering grin, he responded, "Why don't you go to the man himself for that?"  Hermione looked at Harry.

            "Harry?"

            "…Yes?" sheepishly asked Harry.

            "Do you know what he's talking about?"

            "I don't know…I mean…maybe…I think so…because, after you and Ron left, I went to go talk to Cho, to…settle our accounts, after the…events… of last year."  Harry looked nervously over at Cho, who looked much better than she had last night, and was energetically talking amongst her friends.  "Anyway, we got to talking, and we ended up staying here quite late…" Harry trailed off.

            "Oh!" exclaimed Ron, clearly delighted.

"…Oh…" said Hermione, her expression unreadable.  Draco sniggered at her reaction, and Crabbe and Goyle joined in, snickering.

            "It's not like we're _together or anything," added Harry quickly—but the damage had been done._

"Jealous, Mudblood?  I don't see why you should be; it's not like you ever had a chance.  As distasteful as Potter is, even he is above the likes of _you."  Hermione, Ron, and Harry all went livid with rage.  Harry was too stunned to speak, but the others angrily responded._

            "Not that I'd _care if I had a 'chance' or not," retorted a very flustered Hermione, "but I'm quite sure my birth is a total non-issue to Harry!"_

"Harry's not above Hermione, and neither am I!" shouted Ron.

"Of course you're not above her, Weasley," scoffed Draco, "my dad's always said your Muggle-loving family is a disgrace to the name of 'wizard.'"

"And my father has always said that your father and he have very different ideas about what disgraces the name of 'wizard.'"  Draco stood there with an expression on his face like he'd smelt something rotten.

            "Sounds just like your Muggle-loving father.  Well.  I hadn't meant to chat long—just wanted to see what Potter was doing with his little crew instead of his little girlfriend."  Draco turned his back on the three friends without another word, and his fan club immediately followed suit, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione with an awkward silence.

            "So, Harry… why didn't you tell us about Cho?" asked Ron, grinning and nudging his elbow into his friend.

            "Yes, Harry… why _didn't you tell us?"  Hermione glared at him._

            "Because there's nothing to tell!" Harry said, exasperated.

            "Nothing to tell about besides a night spent together, you mean," Hermione said, still glaring.

            "It wasn't spent _together, we were just—what does it matter to you, anyway?"_

            "It-…it doesn't matter…not really…but you should have told us, " Hermione chastised lightly.  Harry sighed.

            "Really, there is nothing at all between us," he said.  Ron looked vaguely unconvinced, but didn't say anything.

*          *          *

The rest of the meal was spent in near-silence; because of this silence, however, Harry was able to catch some rather interesting bits of conversation between Fred and George Weasley, who were seated on the table directly across from him.

            "Are you sure?"

            "Quite sure, but—"

            "No way!"

            "Of course, 'way.'  Didn't I just say that I was sure?"

            "Well yes, but… that seems almost too good to be true."

            "It does, doesn't it?"

            "This will be the prank to end all pranks!"

            "Well, not quite.  But we'll certainly leave one hell of a legacy for Gryffindor!"

            As Fred and George got up from the table, laughing like maniacs, Harry wondered what they could possibly be talking about, but knew better than to ask them about it; whatever mischief they were planning would surely manifest itself soon enough.  It seemed as though Ron hadn't noticed the bit of dialogue between his older brothers, but when Harry turned to ask him if he knew what they might be up to, his vision fell upon young Ginny Weasley—surrounded by a group of her friends, and softly sobbing into a paper napkin.

            Harry was at first taken aback by the sight: Ginny was sitting, her hair mussed up, her face in her hands, crying into the napkin, her flanking friends all touching her in a supportive way.  Before he was able to contemplate what would elicit such a reaction from her, he heard a wisp of conversation—

            "Oh, Ginny… it's OK… it's all fine… don't worry, honey…"

            "Don't worry about what?  About… _her?  How could I __not?  The way they were there, just sitting right over there, for hours on end… I could…I could just curl up and die…"_

            —and Harry knew it was his fault.  Unintentionally, through the same talk with Cho that had nearly gotten Hermione upset at him, he had broken Ginny's heart.  A sick, empty feeling spread through his stomach; it wasn't like he fancied Ginny, but sleeping on the matter had led him to realize that he didn't fancy Cho, either—and if thinking that he did was causing Ginny such pain…

            "ALL RIGHT, SLIMEBALLS!" roared the magically-amplified voice of Colonel Quinn, resounding throughout the cavernous Great Hall (its occupants startled and jumping).  "Today, because we're starting on a Tuesday, the fourth and fifth years will have their first lesson of the term together.  It will be here, in the Great Hall, starting in five minutes.  So the rest of you gits, get out of here!  Fourth and fifth years, you heard me, I want you ready to rock and roll in five.  MOVE!"

            The sixth and seventh years cleared out in a hurry, not wishing to risk a confrontation with Quinn.  One unlucky sixth year Hufflepuff, in his hurry to clear out, accidentally slammed into Snape (who began cursing in a language Harry didn't recognize, but didn't do anything to the student).  Meanwhile, the fourth and fifth years gradually formed up in a great circle around Quinn, who was standing with a ramrod-straight back.  After five minutes had passed, all the students had filed in; Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all by each other, and Colin Creevey had somehow managed to position himself adjacent to Harry.  Quinn cleared his throat and addressed the all students standing around him.

            "Today, you begin your training in Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts," he began, his eyes shifting across the sea of faces in front of him.  "Now, many of you might think that this is like some accelerated normal course.  Don't make that mistake."  Harry saw Hermione's face droop with disappointment.  "THIS is the first day of the rest of your lives!  Today begins your six-week journey into yourself.  The purpose of this seminar may be to teach you to defend yourself, but that will be _impossible without knowing who you really are—how far you can go, the utmost limits of your talents and your abilities.  Defense is __not about overpowering your attacker; not only is that foolish, given the extreme power of those likely to threaten you, it is liable to get you mangled up pretty bad.  Defense is about pressing the advantages you have—using your __mind to get yourself out of a sticky situation.  But, given the extreme amounts of crap you've got floating around inside your little teenage heads, it's difficult for you to operate your mind effectively._

"So, the first steps in your training will involve getting your mind to work for you.  We will begin with a meditation exercise, to remove all the gunk jamming up your brains.  We then move on to basic martial arts training; by the end of today, you will have learned how to successfully block almost any shot to your torso.  The purpose of this skill is _not practical in the traditional sense, as you are very unlikely to come across a Dark wizard who tries to punch you in the gut."  There was mild laughter in the circle of students, which Quinn ignored.  "Rather, you are learning to think without thinking—to __intuit.  I will teach you only a few basic blocking moves, not nearly sufficient to cover the wide range of possible attacks on your upper body; but these moves, combined with the meditation techniques we'll start with in a moment, will nevertheless make you very difficult to hit._

"Now, I've found that a change in scenery generally helps trainees clear their minds, so I've organized a special transfiguration of this Great Hall with your Transfiguration teacher herself; make sure to tell her thank you.  Minerva?"  Harry idly wondered how Quinn could be on a first-name basis with Professor McGonagall already, but with McGonagall's cry of _Mutarem__ Magnus! the remarkable change in scenery blasted that thought from his mind._

The interior of the Great Hall was suddenly transformed into a magnificent Chinese-style dojo, or at least what Harry always thought one would look like.  The floor changed from polished wood to a white, slightly spongy material; the stone walls, once covered in moving pictures, became stark bamboo.  Columns now supported the suddenly much-lower roof, and through an opening in the bamboo wall Harry saw the sun, red and large on the horizon, stretching lazily through forests of emerald trees.  

Then he looked across at Hermione, and saw that she was wearing a plain white gi, her long hair held up in a tight bun.  Looking around, he saw that _everyone had suddenly changed clothes, even himself.  He gasped in wonder at the suddenness and intensity of the change in scene, and heard nearly all the students do the same._

"Amazing…" said Ron, vacantly.

"Isn't it wonderful?" cried Hermione, feeling her hair (which had been straightened as though by an iron).

"Everyone, sit down with your legs crossed," said Quinn gruffly, displaying no patience with his pupils' amazement.  "Close your eyes, and relax.  Try to clear your minds of any lingering doubts or worries.  Oh, before we begin, anyone who falls asleep will be prohibited from going to Hogsmeade this weekend.  Yes, you heard right, Hogsmeade this weekend.  Now then.  Imagine you are walking alone in a dark forest…"

*          *          *

Ron Weasley had never figured himself to be the mystic type.  There weren't really any Weasleys who were, though out of all of them the one who came closest was probably Ginny.  However, when he focused his entirety of being on nothingness, as Colonel Quinn gradually led him to do, he was amazed to discover the wealth of experience present in the void.  Ron felt oddly outside of his body—and yet it seemed that he had never been so in tune with himself as he was then.

"…Now open your eyes," said Quinn softly (but somehow still gruffly).  Ron slowly opened his eyes.  As if by instinct, his gaze turned directly to Hermione; it took an extreme effort to snap it back directly in front of him.

Ron sighed deeply.  As quieting as being in that meditative trance had been, it hadn't completely removed his biggest concern from his mind: Hermione.  He couldn't help it; he was simply crazy about her.  Or crazily mad at her, depending on when you talked to him.  But how could he help arguing incessantly with someone whose simple presence struck such a deep chord in him?  She was totally unlike any girl he had ever known before—brilliant, kind, and unwilling to compromise her individuality to be seen as feminine (even though she was very much a girl, as he had embarrassingly and belatedly discovered right before the Yule Ball last year).  Being her friend was in its own way every bit as wonderful and rewarding as being Harry's friend…and yet…

Ron sighed even more deeply.  He had run this over in his head a thousand times, and it still didn't quite all add up; he felt as though there was some empty space in his relationship with Hermione, as though the level of their present friendship wasn't quite deep enough for him.  It wasn't just that he wanted a girlfriend—Ron started going pink as he thought of Hermione in that role—but he knew needed some deeper level of understanding and communication, and he couldn't think of a better person to have that kind of relationship with than Hermione.  Although…

            Sighing a third time, Ron considered Harry, his best friend.  Ron deeply and truly wished that Harry would find love with Cho, both for Harry's happiness and—Ron felt slightly guilty for admitting this, even to himself—Ron's.  Ron had always looked at Harry's relationship with Hermione with an ever-so-slightly jealous eye; sure, he might have gotten attention because they were always bickering, but Harry was always steadfastly the friend of both of them, and had through four years perfected (albeit reluctantly) being the knight in shining armor.  Ron supposed that this might work in his own favor—didn't Harry's steady friendship with Hermione mean that he wasn't interested in her that way?—but nevertheless wished Harry would hurry up and find a girl.

            But where did that leave him?  Ron felt that some sort of decision needed to be made, and soon.  Would he confess his feelings to Hermione?  _Could he?  How would she react?  Had she given him any thought in a romantic way?  Ron suspected she had, after that foolish, extended scene he'd made about Krum and her last year.  But how would she react—_

            "Ron!  Ron!  Colonel Quinn is trying to—" urged Harry, but it was far too late.

            "_WEASLEY!!!" bellowed an extraordinarily irate Quinn, and Ron was instantly snapped out of his reverie.  The entirety of the circle of students began laughing, Draco Malfoy hardest of all._

            "WHAT THE _HELL WERE YOU DOING?  THIS IS NOT NAP-TIME, SON!"  Ron's face flushed._

            "I…I just… zoned out…sorry…"

            "That's 'I just zoned out, _sir, sorry, __sir!"_

            "I zoned out, sir.  Sorry, sir."  Quinn surveyed Ron, his weathered face twitching angrily.

            "Lucky for you, I saw you concentrating on the meditation.  You did do a damn fine job—only one who came close to your state of concentration was Potter…" Quinn's face stopped twitching quite as violently as it had been.  "…And you weren't technically sleeping, so I suppose it would be unfair to not let you go to Hogsmeade…" the final vestiges of anger flowed from Quinn's face.  "…But _don't let me catch you 'zoning out' again.  Understood?"_

            "Yeah…I mean, yes…I mean, yes _sir," Ron fumbled._

The students all laughed again, and Ron's face went completely red as he stood up to join the rest of the crowd.

"Good.  Now that that's cleared up, I want you all to break up into pairs with the person next to you, and follow my example.  You're both going to get a little bruised, at least at first, but don't worry about it; everyone in Hogwarts will be black and blue throughout these weeks.  Just be careful and do what I say, and no one will get too terribly banged up.  Now, first we have to work on your neutral position…"

*          *          *

Harry had never sweat so hard in his life; he was grateful that the training session had taken place inside the magically air-conditioned Great Hall, rather than outside under the sweltering July sun.  After the intense warm-up, he had been paired off with Colin Creevey, who throughout the lesson (despite chastisement from Quinn) was absolutely unable to even attempt to do Harry bodily harm.  Harry had no such qualms, and gave Colin a rather nasty bruise on his left shoulder after a particularly vigorous series of attacks, apologizing profusely after the hit but thinking to himself that it was really just part of the training.  He switched partners a little while into the training session—a burly Hufflepuff in fifth year replaced Colin—who wasn't afraid to send strong punches Harry's way (the vast majority of which Harry was fortunately able to block).    At the end of the day, Harry felt as though he had really learned something.  His defense motions, while ultimately not as efficient as they could possibly be, were still clean and smooth, and he was able to focus hard enough to read where the attacks would be coming.

Ron had been paired off with Hermione, and was similarly unable to even make a halfway serious attempt at hurting her.  Quinn didn't notice this, however; he was too busy praising Ginny, who was viciously tearing into her partner throughout the day (a scared fourth-year Ravenclaw) and managing to block all of the shots coming her way.

"You see?  Everyone, come watch this girl.  This is _exactly what I'm talking about—smooth, fluid motions.  Look at that expression on her face—concentration, in its purest form!  This girl, ladies and gentlemen, has the mark of a true warrior," said Quinn excitedly, his eyes twitching with glee.  "Hmm…let's how she does against the famed Harry Potter!"_

Ginny let out a small yelp; Harry felt like he was suddenly wearing lead boots and trying to swim.

"Oh, um, Colonel, I…I can't—"mumbled Ginny.

"What's that?" asked Quinn.

"No-nothing…" trailed off Ginny; Harry had heard her first statement perfectly clearly.

The whole crowd of fourth and fifth years now circled around Harry and Ginny.

"Put what you've learned here to use, you two.  No hits below the belt, of course.  Now, show everyone what can be done with talent and practice!" Quinn's eyes were raving in the mania of bloodlust.  Harry and Ginny, for their part, just stood there.

"What are you waiting for?" angrily asked Quinn.  "Go!  Start!  Fight!"

Reluctantly, Harry bowed to Ginny and entered the neutral position.  Ginny followed suit.  Harry readied his fists in the standard defensive position; Ginny prepared to strike, and then tepidly stretched her hand out in a weak attack that Harry easily blocked.

"Come on, girl," growled Quinn, "I know you have more than _that in you."_

Ginny's face hardened, and she struck out again, with a bit more force.  Harry, of course, blocked again with ease.

But Quinn had hit a nerve inside Ginny, and with the ferocity of a trapped tigress she sprung on Harry.  Her attacks came faster and faster, their speed rising with the pitch of the crowd's excitement and the mounting force of emotion within her as she let out the anger and frustration she felt on the person who was responsible for her feeling it; it took every ounce of concentration Harry possessed to keep up with Ginny's unrelenting assault.

"Whoa!  Go Ginny!" shouted the happily surprised Ron.

"Oh…be careful, Harry!" called out Hermione.  "And _don't you dare hurt her!"_

The feverish pace of Ginny's attempted battery increased even further, and Harry found it necessary to throw a few swings her way just to break up the pace a bit.  He had decided that he wasn't going to attempt to harm her—doing her physical as well as mental harm would be beyond reproach—but that decision made strategizing difficult.

"Come on, Potter!  Fight back seriously!  She's not going to let up, you know—and everyone, Ginny included, should expect a few bruises.  So just let her have it!" egged on Quinn.

Harry held his ground, and did not send any punches that he knew Ginny wouldn't be able to block (a feat that became increasingly more difficult as the fight went on).  Finally, though, his defenses started to break down; Ginny managed to get glancing blows against Harry's chest and shoulders.  Ginny's face twisted into a horrible expression of hurt and rage, and she redoubled her efforts.  Just as Harry was about to have his concentration—and defense—totally broken, someone came between the two of them, absorbing Ginny's attacks.

"THAT is _ENOUGH!"_

Professor McGonagall stood between Harry and Ginny.

"Minerva," hissed Quinn, "this is _my lesson.  What are you doing?"_

"I don't know what you're playing at, Quoniam," replied Professor McGonagall harshly, "but this fight has gone far enough.  You've taught the students everything they can be reasonably expected to have learned in a day, _and kept them half an hour past dinner.  Everyone," said McGonagall, addressing the crowd, "your lesson for today is over.  Go wash up; dinner has been delayed for your benefit."  The group of students reluctantly started to disband, and Hermione and Ron rushed to the side of Harry and Ginny._

"Ginny!  That was amazing!  I didn't know you had it in you!" exclaimed Ron.

"Hush, Ron!  Ginny, are you okay?  You were like an animal out there!  And Harry…are you hurt at all?"  Hermione looked quite upset.

"I'm fine, guys.  Nothing I can't handle," said Harry nonchalantly but nevertheless shaken.

"I…I'm so sorry!" Ginny rushed off, crying.  Ron looked at Harry quizzically, but Harry just shrugged his shoulders.

"Can't imagine what _that was about."_

"Oh…I think I might have some idea…" said Hermione, half accusingly, to Harry.  He gulped, knowing exactly where she was heading.

"Wha-what's that?" he asked nervously.  Hermione sighed.

"Nothing, don't worry about it.  Come on, let's get something to eat—I'm absolutely famished."

"Me too," said Ron.

*          *          *

Talk at dinner that night was fervent.  Stories of the days events zoomed all around the Great Hall; students spoke in hushed tones of the intense workout, of Harry's fight with Ginny, of Professor McGonagall's interference.  And, in the greatest quantity and the lowest volume, were possible explanations for the interaction between McGonagall and Quinn—how they addressed each other by first name, but did not speak to each other at all when not forced to.  Harry and Ron, however, had an entirely different matter on their mind.

"Prank to end all pranks?  Legacy of Gryffindor?  What the hell's that supposed to mean?" asked Ron.

"Ron, your language!" said Hermione as she perused through a stack of papers.

"I was hoping _you'd know," said Harry, ignoring Hermione._

"I don't have the slightest clue."

"They haven't told you anything?"

"They never tell me anything, you know that."

"But still, from the sound of it, whatever they're planning is pretty big—and if it's big enough to put them in the history books, or whatever, shouldn't they need more than just two people?"

            Hermione, who hadn't been paying a bit of attention to their conversation, suddenly got up.  Harry spoke out.

            "…Hermione?"  She wheeled about, as if she had forgotten something.

            "Oh—yes—sorry—I'm just terribly distracted—"

            "You think?" asked Ron sarcastically.  "Where are you going, anyway?"  Hermione blushed.

            "I'm not really supposed to…talk about it."  Harry and Ron both gave her  identical looks, and Hermione sighed.

            "It's Prefect stuff.  Professor McGonagall told me I'd been made a Prefect, although technically we're not supposed to know until two weeks before the start of the new year.  Anyway, I have an awful lot of material to read through, as well as training to work out, and I figured I might as well get a head start over the summer."  Ron got up.

            "Well, then, you need someone to help you, right?"

            "Er…no, not really.  I'm fine on my own, really—enjoy your dinner, guys."  But Ron would not be persuaded.

            "Nonsense.  Come on, let me help."  Hermione sighed exasperatedly, and then nodded assent.  As Ron started walking ahead of her, she shrugged her shoulders and smiled at Harry, who grinned in reply.

            However, he wasn't grinning for long; Hermione and Ron's departure had left him with absolutely no one, and Harry didn't feel like eating alone.  Picking up his tray, he walked over to Cho's table, where she was talking excitedly with two female Ravenclaws.  Cho's eyes lit up as he approached.

            "Harry!  Hello!"

            "H-hi, Cho," Harry said nervously.  Cho's friends, a petite brunette with the softest doe eyes he had ever seen and a tall redhead with an extraordinarily well-proportioned figure, were both _very attractive._

            "Oh, allow me to introduce you.  I'm sure you both know the famous Harry Potter," Cho spoke eagerly to her friends.  "Harry, this is Lucille—" Cho motioned to the brunette with one hand, "—and Alexa," she said, using her other hand and smiling broadly.  She brought her hands back to rest in her lap.  "We were just talking about Colonel Quinn and Professor McGonagall—is it true that they called each other by first name?"

            "Ye-yes," Harry stammered, trying with all his might to resist the temptation to stare at the upper portion of Alexa's figure.  Cho didn't seem to notice his nervousness, and continued.

           "Why do you think that is?  You didn't happen to hear them talking to each other, other than when they were fighting, did you?"

            "No," said Harry, his eyes pointed straight downward.

            "How curious…" said Cho to no one in particular.  Alexa and Lucille got up.

            "We'll just, ah…leave you two alone," said the visibly amused Alexa.

            "Be good," giggled Lucille, and the two walked off.  Cho laughed.

            "Those two… honestly.  I told them there was nothing at all between us, and they just looked unconvinced and said 'whatever you say.'"  Harry couldn't help but laugh.

            "I got the same reaction from Ron."

            "Ron—Ron _Weasley?  __He's your red-haired friend?" said Cho, surprised._

            "Uh…yeah…" said Harry, not understanding her surprise.  Cho burst out laughing.

            "So wait.  Ron is your best friend…and Ginny is his sister?"  

"Yeah," Harry replied, blushing slightly.

            "Well…looks like misunderstanding runs in the family, eh?"  Cho asked; Harry turned a deeper shade of red.

            "Certainly does, judging from the way she was bawling this morning and the way she tried to take me apart this afternoon."

            "Though, you know, maybe she had the right idea with the wrong person."

            "What do you mean?"

            "Well, I'm not sure if it was Lucille or Alexa, but _one of them obviously caught your fancy," Cho said with a wink._

            "I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said to the floor.

            "Of course you don't," Cho said, grinning playfully.  "Though, you know, it'd probably be easier for you and your friends if you went for Lucille or Alexa."

            "Why do you say that?" asked Harry, his eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement.

            "Say, where is Hermione?" asked Cho, seemingly changing the subject.  Harry was taken by surprise, but answered nonetheless.

            "She went on some officially unofficial Prefect business."

            "I see…and where is your red-hair—I mean, where is Ron?"

            "Oh, he followed her.  I guess he was trying to make up for their fight yesterday, or something," Harry said with a shrug of his shoulders.  Judging from Cho's laughter, she seemed to find this quite amusing.  "What's so funny?"  Cho's expression drew half-serious.

            "You don't see any connection there?"

            "Why would I?"

            "You mean Ron's behavior hasn't struck you as odd in any way?"

            "Well of course it has, you know, I mean Ron's not exactly the least…_conspicuous pea in the pod."_

            "That's not what I mean."

            "Then what _are you talking about?"  Harry said with definition.  Cho looked him straight in the eye and replied:_

            "I'm talking about the fact that if you don't make a move soon—and I mean _very soon—Ron will."_

            "Make a move?  Huh?"

            "On Hermione."

            "Oh, get off it," Harry said with a dismissive wave of his hands.  "That's the same nonsense you were talking about last night."

            "Nonsense, eh?" Cho asked, her eyes twinkling the same way Dumbledore's always seemed to.

            "Yes.  Nonsense."

            "We'll see, Harry… we'll see," Cho mused; a thought suddenly struck Harry.

            "Besides, why would I _want to make a move on Hermione?"  Cho's grin widened into an overly large smile._

            "Oh, my goodness!" Cho exclaimed with a start.  "Look at the time!"

            "It's not that la—" Harry started, and then looked around the Great Hall; it was empty except for the two of them, and nearly all of the candles had been extinguished.  They had totally forgotten about the passage of time, and someone was sure to come to shoo them off very soon.

            "We really need to be getting to bed, Harry."

            "I'll go in a minute.  First, answer my question: why would I want to make a move on Hermione?" asked Harry resolutely.  

            "I don't know …why would you?" Cho asked, her eyes sparkling like tiny diamonds.  "Ask yourself that question.  Now, goodnight!"

            "Goodn—"  Cho reached over and gave Harry a quick kiss on the cheek, cutting off his farewell, then turned and disappeared.

            Harry stood alone in the nearly pitch-black Great Hall, wondering what exactly was going on, and wishing to himself that things were as simple and uncomplicated as they had been his first year at Hogwarts.

~End Chapter 3

Finishing note: _PHEW!  That was a beast of a chapter.  Sorry about the length, but I envisioned all these events happening as a single thread in the continuum, and so had to stick them all together._

So, how do you all like the story so far?  Interesting enough?  I've only set up half of the conflict—namely, the romantic aspects of it.  Next chapter, the other half kicks off.  Til then, please tell me what you think of this story!


	4. The First Tournament

Sorry about the delays in updatin; I'm trying to make this fanfic a cut or two above what I usually see; this combined with my desire to make the story long and detailed necessarily makes the editing process somewhat lengthy.  Any beta readers are, of course, most welcome!

CHAPTER FOUR: THE FIRST TOURNAMENT

            Despite how much Harry would have loved to reflect on the deeper implications (if there were any) of Cho's goodnight kiss, there was simply not enough time in the day to think of anything besides his Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons.  Just as Dumbledore had spelled out on the first day, every minute that wasn't spent practicing the techniques Quinn had taught them was occupied with learning complementary skills.

            The first thing they did on Wednesday was learn how to make _Vir__ Superior potions from Snape.  The idea was to get a few minutes' burst of strength and speed—safely and temporarily—to escape a hairy situation.  Unfortunately, Neville Longbottom's potion was more than a bit thick; when he drank it, he became several hundred times stronger and faster than normal and thus totally out of control.  Unable to walk without zooming across the room or move his hands without smashing something to tiny bits, Neville blundered about the Potions seminar for nearly fifteen minutes (Snape yelling all the while) before the potion wore off.  Snape, extraordinarily angry, could not dock points from Gryffindor (as the House competition was not yet officially on), but did send Neville to Mr. Filch as punishment.  Harry shuddered as he considered what Neville's punishment might entail, but did not dwell on it for too long._

            At breakfast, Ginny Weasley was nowhere to be seen; when she didn't show up for lunch, either, Harry was worried.  Ron assured him that everything would be fine; Hermione looked far less convinced, but didn't say anything about it.  When dinner rolled around, and still Ginny was not present, Ron finally admitted there might be problem and reluctantly left the table in search of his sister.

For a few moments there was an awkward silence between Harry and Hermione; for his part, Harry felt as if he had been hiding in a tiny shack, and Ron's departure had blown the roof off of the shack in the middle of a thunderstorm.

            "Poor Ginny…" said Hermione, almost provocatively raising one of her eyebrows at Harry.

            "Yeah, I…" Harry didn't know what he was going to say in response, and so just trailed off.

            "You what?"  asked Hermione.  Harry laughed.

            "I don't know.  This is rather difficult."

            "What is?"

            "Trying to pretend this isn't totally embarrassing," Harry admitted, his cheeks flushing a bit.  It was Hermione's turn to laugh.

            "You brought it upon yourself."

            "Evidently—I just don't see how."

            "Oh, get off it."

            "Get off what?"

            "You know why she's acting like this."

            "I imagine it's because of Cho, though I can't imagine _why or what __about her," Harry said with a shrug.  Hermione looked directly into his eyes_

            "You know very well it's all the time you two have been spending together."

            "_All the time?  What, both of the nights we've talked—the first two we've talked in our whole lives?"_

            "For several hours each time."

            "Be that as it may—" Harry started, but Hermione cut him off.

            "I'm just saying.  People see things.  And when people see things, they think things.  And these things get passed on to other people, who are of course affected," said Hermione, looking at the table and moving her hands in circles as she spoke.  She stopped, and finished her statement, "So it might be…wise… to consider the implications of your actions."

            "Such as?  I don't see why it's such a big deal.  Honestly, don't people ever get sick of talking about me?  I know I would," Harry said with a weak smile.  Hermione sighed as though to say that she agreed, but did not speak.  Harry took the opportunity to ask a question of Hermione.

            "Do _you notice—er—'things,' as you put it?"_

            "I… No.  Yes.  I don't know." Hermione said uncertainly.  "I do find it intriguing, how you say there's nothing at all between you and Cho, even though you've spent the past two nights talking alone with her and last year you made no secret of your fancying her.  Especially considering the, ah, lipstick on your cheek when you woke up this morning,"  Hermione added with a slight pause for emphasis, lightly scratching her right cheek as she spoke.  Harry interjected:

            "Oh, come on!  _You gave me a kiss on the cheek, when we got off of the train at the end of last term—what, does that mean there's something between us?"  Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Harry hadn't noticed and kept going._

            "That kiss last night meant nothing," Harry said firmly.  "Nothing…" he added without definition; he was less sure this was the case even as the words came out of his mouth.  Hermione was spared having to respond by the arrival of Ron.

            "Ah, she'll be fine.  Just feeling bad about Harry and Cho, is all," Ron said as he sat down again.

            "There's _nothing to feel bad about," said Harry defensively.  Ron looked at him for a moment._

            "Whatever you say, Harry…"  For a moment Harry considered arguing the point with Ron; but he had just tried that with Hermione, and was likely to have even less success trying to convince him.

            Ginny was indeed feeling fine Thursday, or at least good enough to show her face at the Herbology seminar on wound treatment.  However, between her mood and that of Professor Sprout (who was still extremely upset over the death of Cedric Diggory; she was the head of Hufflepuff, and Diggory—himself a Hufflepuff—had been her most illustrious charge) there was little sense of urgency or importance; both of them just moped around the room, going through the motions of learning or teaching (respectively) how to use Makoweed to quickly coagulate blood.  Harry didn't know whether to be thankful for the momentary reprieve, or annoyed that he wasn't able to use this time in any way that would benefit his skills before the school-wide tournament the next day.

*          *          *

            But Friday came soon enough, and all the pomp and circumstance of the tournament with it.  There were giant mats rolled out across the Quidditch field—four of them, one for each year's students, divided into several smaller mats for the individual by magical gold-glowing tape.  Harry saw Quinn talking eagerly to Hagrid; judging from the look on Hagrid's face, Hagrid was simultaneously scared and amused by whatever it was that Quinn was telling him.  Soon, Quinn left Hagrid and spoke into the same magical amplifying device used to comment on Quidditch matches.

            "Can you all hear me?" said Quinn to the crowd; enthusiastic cheering was the response.

            "Good.  All right.  So you've learned a few tricks, these past few days.  You know a little something, I'll admit—though of course anyone with some real training could whip you up and down this school.  But that's not the point.  You all aren't going to be testing your reflexes or your finesse out here today—you're going to be testing your endurance.  The roughest, toughest, most unwilling-to-give-up one of you will prevail, I guarantee.  Now, some ground rules.  No hitting below the belt.  Because of the large number of students, all matches except the championship will extend no longer than fifteen minutes in the absence of a withdrawal or a knockout.  Finally, although the House contest isn't officially on, I've arranged with Dumbledore to give twenty points to the House of the champion—just to give you all a little extra incentive to win, besides fame and glory and honor and all that," Quinn said with a slightly sneering grin, eyeing Harry as he spoke.  "Now get out there and kick some ass!"  Cheering erupted from the student section again; the first tournament had begun.

*          *          *

            Hermione was knocked out by Goyle in her second match with a bear of a punch to her head; Ron did a little better, making it all the way to the fifth years' division's quarter finals before losing by Snape's decision after fighting Malfoy for fifteen minutes.  Ron considered asking for another person's decision (the match had been very close), but Harry had Draco on the ground after a relentless two-minute assault in the division finals, so he didn't say anything.

            The fourth years' division lasted the same amount of time as the fifth years', with the exception of the division championship.  Ginny Weasley, who was matched up against a vigorous Hufflepuff, had time to see Harry step off his mat in victory.  She had been winning the fight, and seemed moments away from a victory; but seeing that she'd have to go against Harry in the school semifinals put the fire out of her belly, and she took a fall to end the match, to the extreme disappointment of her group of friends.

Harry, weary but not yet exhausted, took on the bloodied Hufflepuff in the fourth and fifth year championship.  Although Harry's opponent had taken quite a beating from Ginny, he managed to put up a good fight; the battle raged back and forth, each hit more difficultly won than the last, for the full fifteen minutes.  Professor McGonagall called the match in Harry's favor; it was close, but Harry had managed to keep a distinct advantage throughout.  With decided enthusiasm he took a short break, got some words of encouragement from Ron and Hermione, and then set out for the mat around which the whole school was beginning to gather in anticipation of the final match.  Harry was exhausted from the day's efforts but nonetheless very excited to have a chance to take the preemptive twenty points for Gryffindor.

His excitement crashed, burned, and died as soon as he saw his opponent walk up to the mat.

"Hello, Harry," said Lucille with a giggle.  "Looks like it's just you and me left, huh?"

"I…you…she…WHAT?"  Harry was beyond flabbergasted.

"What?  You don't think a tiny little thing like me has what it takes?"  Lucille smiled devilishly.  "A Slytherin made that mistake, in the sixth year quarter finals.  They say he should be getting out of the hospital in a few days."  Harry's face went white.

"Joke, Harry."

"R-right…."  Joke or not, Harry was still very nervous.  Just then, Quinn walked up.

"Fraternizing with the enemy, you two?" Quinn snorted.  "I want a good fight, here—this isn't the social hour.  In just a few minutes, I'm going to blow the whistle, and you two are going to attack each other like starved wolves."  Quinn started walking off the mat, but suddenly went and whispered something into Lucille's ear; she blushed and giggled some more.

As Quinn left to go attend to some other business, Harry had the strangest feelings he had ever felt.  He suddenly couldn't help but notice the way the scarlet twilight sun made Lucille's lips glisten with sensuality, the way the rosy sky accented her creamy skin's natural color.  She actually looked a lot like Hermione, now that Harry thought about it, except that Hermione wasn't sweaty and dirty from the day's activities.             Lucille's shoulder-length brown hair was tousled in exactly the right places as to make Harry very unwilling to change it in any way, shape, or form.  And as the light slowly faded, her beautifully proportioned face seemed ever more refined; he could have stood there admiring her for the rest of the night…except for the small matter of Quinn, who came back all too soon for Harry's tastes.

"Right, sorry about that.  You two ready?  This is it: the big match!  And it's not over until one of you goes down," said Quinn, that odd, feverish glint in his eyes back again.  He stepped back from the mat and said, "Let's get it on!"  Lucille smiled sweetly at Harry, and then pounced.

She came in swinging, and it was all Harry could do to focus on not taking too many hits right off the bat.  It was futile; Harry's attention was evenly divided between the amazingly pretty way Lucille's cheeks flushed as she beat him senseless and desperately trying to avoid being beaten senseless.

            With each blow, Harry found himself more numbed to the pain and less unwilling to concentrate on her gorgeous hair flowing like a river of silk through the crisp air.  Blow after blow after blow landed on his chest, as he struggled to fight against the sluggishness spreading through his veins.  Finally, he had had too much; he collapsed, punch-drunk, to the floor.  He just had time to hear a few words far off in the distance—

            "What a pathetic excuse for a fight!  Down in less than a minute?  Ah well, I guess it's twenty points to Ravenclaw…"

            —before he saw Ron and Hermione rushing to his side, and everything went black.

~End Chapter Four

Author's Note: Sorry about the short length of this chapter, but I think it ends at a nice thematic point.  Originally this chapter was going to be about two and a half times the size it is now, to cover all the events of the day of the first tournament (which would have included the fruition of that nebulous reference I made last chapter to more than romance going on in the story).  I've divided it in two, though.  Next chapter will be the aftermath of the tournament—some major events in the love lives of the characters, and the introduction of the not-so-rosy side of this summer term at Hogwarts.  'Til then, please tell me what you think!  I really do love getting feedback.


	5. Chapter Five Sneak Peek

NOTE: I'm going to be away for a few days, and so unable to update, but I'll leave with this sneak preview of Chapter Five.  Upon my return, the whole Chapter Five will replace this small bit of it.

*          *          *

"H-hi, Hermione," Ron said nervously.

            "Hello, Ron," she replied dryly.  Ron gulped.

            "Is something the matter?"  Hermione asked; Ron seemed upset about something, but it was difficult to say what exactly.

            "N-no…." Ron said, fidgeting with his hands.  "Well, actually, now that you mention it…yeah, yes, there is something that's been bugging me."  Hermione sat expectantly for a moment, then spoke.

            "Well…?"

            "Well?"

            "Well _what is it, Ron?"  Hermione thought she came off a bit harsh, but Ron's beating around the bush was starting to annoy her._

            "I…D'you think it might be ok if you, I don't know, turned around, or something, while I spoke—so I couldn't see your face?  I have a lot to say, and I need as few distractions as possible."  Hermione sighed and nodded her head, wondering this could possibly be about and feeling slightly uneasy about the whole matter.  She turned her chair around so that she faced the room's walls; Ron continued.  "Thanks."

            "No problem.  Now, I don't mean to be rude, but will you kindly get on with it?  I do have some Prefect materials to look over…"

            "Yes, I'm sorry," Ron said, turning pink.  "It's just…well…this is so unbelievably difficult…ok, here goes.  Hermione: I fancy you.  And as more than a friend, I mean."  Hermione's mouth dropped; never in a million years would she have even dreamed that that's what this talk was going to be about.  She started to turn around, but Ron stopped her.  "No!  Stay where you are!  If you face me now I'll _never get this out.  Good, that's it.  Right.  Yes.  I fancy you.  I care for you deeply as a friend—you know that—and I would never intentionally do anything to harm that friendship…I mean, you know, outside of that Scabbers business…" Ron started turning a darker shade of red.  "The point is, I don't want to mess up what we have.  But I feel how I feel, and I can't help it—you're everything I could ever want, you're beautiful and brilliant and… every girl I see, I can't think of her without first putting her to a measuring stick with you as the perfect ten.  You can turn around now, or get up and leave, or whatever," Ron said to the ground._

            But Hermione did not move; she did not turn around, and she did not get up.  She sat there, motionless.  How was she supposed to react to an announcement like that?  Was she supposed to fly into his arms?  Was she supposed to turn up her nose, disgusted at the idea?  She didn't feel like either of those two were right, and yet could not decide on a decent alternative.

            "I… Wow, Ron, that sure was something," she said as she turned to face him.

*          *          *

            Ron's head was throbbing; he could feel the blood rapidly thumping across his temple, burning up with embarrassment and nervousness.

            "I…Wow, Ron, that sure was something."  Hermione turned her chair around again; Ron smiled weakly in reply.

            "Yeah…"

            He was half hoping Hermione would jump into his lap, half hoping she'd slap this foolishness out of his head, and half hoping he found some way of pretending like this was all some joke before things got too far out of hand.  As he was realizing this made three halves, Hermione spoke.

            "I…I don't know, Ron…what to say, I mean, I don't know what to say…you fancy…_me?"  Ron could hear his heart beating in his chest; it sounded almost like it was outside the room._

            "Yes," Ron replied.  The banging inside Ron's head was growing steadily in volume.  But Hermione then made an odd sort of face at him, like she was concentrating on something.

            "Do you hear that?" she asked.

            "Hear what?" asked Ron, the clanging of his head now nearly deafening.

            "You mean you don't hear that awful noise?" she asked incredulously—and then Ron realized that the reason the banging had sounded like it was outside of the room was that it _was outside of the room._

            "No, I definitely hear that.  Let's go check it out."  Ron sprung up, and Hermione followed him.  They quickly made their way out of the room, towards the source of the clatter—and when they found it, they stood traumatized in utter shock: the Gryffindor Common Room had been utterly smashed, looking more like a shack destroyed by a category-five hurricane than the stately lounge it had once been.


End file.
